Our Story
by Happy Lilac
Summary: A small tale in which hearts are broken, suppressed memories resurface, and the emotion of love demonstrates its power.


**Okay, this is an idea I've had in my head for a while. I unleashed my full literary prowess, so you better be prepared :D Not in 1****st**** person, not a random drabble, simply a 3****rd**** person, tragic yet adorable story in which pretty much everyone is OOC(wow I just described Let's Start Over perfectly :/ But this is completely different I swear!)! Also, it's like the end of WWII so Prussia is living with Germany and Italy and Japan are still there, too. Anywho, Enjoy~**

Germany felt like the worst person in the world.

He'd yelled at Italy again, which he did often, but he had never said the things he had said then. He had never said things that brought tears to the Italian's eyes, and caused him to run off into the woods, ignoring Germany's pleas to return. The words had been brought on by frustration and anger as usual, along with strange feelings he had been wrestling with towards the Italian. He was also conflicting visions-dare he say, memories-that the German had been experiencing, all having to do with Italy. It had been about two hours already since this had happened, and it was beginning to rain. Italy still had not come back, but Germany was sure he would. At least, he hoped.

Prussia seemed to notice his younger brother's melancholy, but said nothing until Germany sat on the couch, squeezing the bridge of his nose. Prussia knew his brother well enough to know that the younger man only did so when he was very, very stressed.

"What's up, bruder?" asked Prussia, walking to Germany and sitting next to him.

Germany sighed, but then answered, "I yelled at Italy."

"So? You do that all the time." replied Prussia casually.

"This time I went too far." Germany snapped. "He started crying and ran away. It's been two hours and he still hasn't come back." Germany sighed. "I looked for him, but I couldn't find him. And even if I did, he'd just run away again. I was just…frustrated." Germany laughed slightly. "You might think I'm crazy, but these weird thoughts keep coming into my head. Thoughts about Italy. And they feel almost like…memories." There, he had said it. Memories. But Prussia did not seem to think of the notion as silly. His crimson eyes were wide, and he had more shock on his face than Germany had ever seen on him before.

"Well, bruder, I think it's time I told you a story." Prussia sighed. Germany was confused, but decided not to protest.

"Many centuries ago, there was a young country named Holy Roman Empire." Prussia began. Germany felt a knot form in his stomach. The day Italy had first mentioned this country was when the visions began to appear. Prussia continued…

"He lived in Austria's house for a time, along with Hungary and a young country about his age: Italy. The two were as different as two countries could be, but they became good friends, and eventually they feel in love. Unfortunately, Holy Rome had to leave for war. He offered Italy the chance to come, and he refused out of fear. But the two shared a kiss and promised each other they'd meet again. Holy Rome fought a long, bitter war, which he lost horribly. I'm the one who found him on the battlefield, barely alive. But he was alive, but in a coma. All the other countries believed him to be dead, including Italy. Austria and Hungary knew, however, and waited patiently for the child to awaken. But when Holy Rome woke up, he remembered nothing. He had no memory of his past. He didn't even know his own name. Austria and Hungary didn't have the heart to take him in in, so the job of raising the country from scratch fell to me. I'd say I did pretty well. The young country grew into one of the strongest countries around. And he did meet Italy again, as promised. But so much time had passed that the two didn't recognize each other."

By this time, Germany's heart was pounding. The images in his head were becoming clearer. Prussia had a faraway look in his eyes, a look that Germany never thought he would see in his older brother's crimson orbs.

"Can you guess, bruder?" Prussia asked, smiling softly. "That country was, and is, you."

Indeed Germany could. Every word struck a chord within his mind, every event replayed through his head. He had known Italy. But even more so, Italy had been his first love. Perhaps that explained the odd feelings in his heart whenever he was with him.

That was when Japan suddenly burst in, breathing heavily and soaked from the now pouring rain.

"Japan, what's going on?" asked Germany, standing up and running to his friend. Prussia did the same.

"Germany-san, it's Italy-kun!" Japan cried. "He…he wants to kill himself!"

"What!" shouted Germany. Prussia's eyes widened in fear.

"I-I ran into him, outside, and he seemed upset, so I asked him what was wrong…" Japan shook his head, abandoning trying to explain. "H-he thinks you hate him, Germany…" he continued, beginning to sob. "I-I couldn't s-snap him out of it, he really means it, h-he's going to use his pocket knife…"

"Where is he?" asked Germany.

"H-he's near that pond, in the west part of the woods," Japan answered, still sobbing. "You have to stop him, Germany-san, y-you're his only hope…"

At that, Germany ran out into the rain through the still open door, praying he wasn't already too late.

Japan leaned against the wall and slid down, curling up his legs and burying his face in his hands, crying harder than he had in a long time.

Prussia stood, dumbstruck, the past minute running through his head on hyper drive, forbidding him from taking everything in. He was certain of one thing though, which was this: If anyone could save Italy, Germany could.

oOo

Italy sat several feet away from a pond, turning his pocket knife over and over again in his hands. He was afraid, afraid of death, afraid of dying, as is everyone, human or nation. But with this fear came sad acceptance, a conviction that death must be brought to him. For what good reason was there to be alive if the person he loved hated him? Sure, Germany hadn't said the words, but it was there in what he did say, in his tone of voice, in the burning of anger in his blue eyes, perhaps similar to the burning now in Italy's throat as he remembered. But despite all the pain, Italy did not hate Germany back. No, he still loved him, and that was half his reason for sitting in the rain, holding the pocket knife. He didn't want to bother Germany with his presence any longer, but he knew he couldn't live without said German. It would be like killing two birds with one stone. Italy didn't know much about anatomy, but he did know about the jugular vein. He knew that cutting it with his knife would provide a quick ending, several minutes at the most. He would have preferred a quicker ending, but the knife was too short for him to stab his heart. With trembling hands, the Italian brought the knife to his neck, again sprouting that fear, the fear of dying, the fear of living. But Italy had his mind set on the former. Using his rush of conviction, the heartbroken Italian prepared to end his life. But right as the knife touched his skin, he heard a familiar voice call his name.

Germany was at once relieved and afraid. He had caught Italy in time, but would he be able to save him? He dashed to Italy and knocked the knife out of his hand. Italy jumped up in surprise.

"Wh-what are you doing here, Germany?" asked Italy, his voice quavering from the sobs in his throat.

"Japan told me everything." Germany answered, his voice tense. "I'm not letting you do this, Italy."

Italy stared at the German, the look on his face halfway between defiant and teary. Then he bolted for his knife, scooping it up from the ground before Germany could stop him. He put the knife to his neck.

"Why are you trying to stop me?" asked Italy, tears streaming down his face, mixing with rain drops. "You hate me."

"I don't hate you." Germany insisted, taking a step towards Italy. Italy stepped back in response. Germany sighed. "I regretted everything I said to you as soon as I said it."

"That's not true!" Italy screamed, crying harder. "You yell at me all the time, not just today! You never even wanted me as an ally, you only took me in 'cause no one else did! Why are you trying? You don't care, you never did."

"Italy, that isn't true, I swear it isn't!" Germany ran to Italy and grabbed his shoulders. Italy struggled fiercely.

"Let go!" he sobbed, even though he desperately wanted to cling to Germany and feel his arms around him.

"I don't hate you." Germany murmured, his voice soft. "I could never hate you."

"How do you expect me to believe that?" Italy sniffled.

In response, Germany brought him close and kissed him, passionately yet gently. Italy's mind was suddenly brought back to another kiss, his first kiss, so many centuries ago. The day was different, the emotions were different, even the weather was different, but the feeling of lips on his was exactly the same. Too similar to just be coincidence. More tears flowed from his eyes, no longer tears of pain and sadness, but tears of joy and love. The pocket knife fell from his hand as Germany pulled away.

"You…you're…" Italy started to say, but couldn't finish for all his tears.

"Holy Rome." Germany finished. "I didn't even know it until ten minutes ago when Prussia told me. But I remember everything, and now I know why my feelings towards you have been changing lately."

"Are you saying…?" Italy looked up at Germany, his amber eyes wide.

"Ich liebe dich, Italy." Germany whispered. Italy didn't know much German, but he knew what Germany was saying by the look in his eyes.

"Germany…" Italy whimpered. He hugged Germany tightly and buried his face in his chest, sobbing into his shirt.

"You can stop crying now." Germany said softly, holding Italy close and stroking his hair.

"I'm so happy I'm crying!" Italy exclaimed, looking up at Germany with a weak smile. Germany smiled back. Italy suddenly sneezed, startling them both. Germany chuckled slightly, as did Italy.

"Let's go home before you get sick." Germany whispered, kissing the top of Italy's head.

"Okay~" Italy replied. He was surprised when Germany scooped him up, bridal-style, and began to carry him home. But he enjoyed the feeling of Germany's strong arms supporting him, so he relaxed into Germany's hold.

Germany was simply happy he had saved Italy, and also excited that Italy returned his feelings. Italy felt light in his arms, even a little soft. When Germany looked down at him, he seemed to be falling asleep. That is, until he looked up and gave Germany a smile, which Germany returned.

oOo

Japan and Prussia waited anxiously for Germany to come back. Both countries were silently praying for Italy's safety. The two cared greatly for the Italian, and they each felt helpless and afraid. Japan felt unbelievably guilty that he hadn't been able to stop Italy in the first place. Prussia just wanted to see the little Italian come home alive. Finally, after looking out the front window for the twentieth time, Japan saw Germany approaching, Italy in his arms.

"They're back!" he cried. Prussia immediately stood up and both ran to the door, half hopeful and half afraid of what they would see. They ran outside into the rain, staring expectantly at Germany. The rain made it hard to see Germany's expression, and hard to see whether Italy was alive or dead. Japan's heart was in his throat. If Italy was dead, he was responsible…

But when Germany got closer, both Prussia and Japan could see his reassuring smile. They could also see Italy look up to face them, a small grin on his face.

Prussia let out a relieved sigh; Japan fell to his knees, sobbing in joy and relief that Italy was safe.

And as the four nations stood in the rain, their feet in the wet grass, looking in each other's eyes, they realized that things had changed.

Likely for the better.

**Yay GerIta! XD And yes, that is my HRE=Germany theory. I have a non-believer friend, but I'll set her straight :) But wow, I really like making Japan cry, apparently o.o I shall write more, not to worry :) Until then, see ya~**


End file.
